


Oh, why would you weep, my friends, for me?

by Kt_fairy



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Death, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, I'm Sorry, M/M, Marriage, Post-Canon, Trauma, victorian ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27305047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: Just inside the doors, standing in the shadows behind the grey marble font, was James.CaptainFitzjames, although wore no epaulettes nor gold stiffened dress uniform. His greatcoat was hanging off gaunt shoulders, almost swamping his starved, reduced form, yet his neckcloth was neat and the buttons polished, his cap tucked smartly under his arm. His eyes dark and deep, following Francis without condemnation or joy as he walked past.orthe greatest tragedy of Francis' life.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, Sophia Cracroft/Captain Francis Crozier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 44





	Oh, why would you weep, my friends, for me?

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea came to me while zoned out in a meeting, and wrote it in 26 hours. So make of that what you will. 
> 
> Thank you to MsKingBean for reading this at midnight!!
> 
> See end notes for warning about the Character Death tag.

"And now, in honour of your entrance into holy wedlock,” the priest said in that lilting tone of all clergy, a gentle smile on his face as he motioned to Francis, “you may now kiss the bride.”

Sophia reached across Francis to grasp his hand when he turned to her, the cool metal of her wedding ring pressing into his palm. Her expression had been reserved from the moment her cousin had delivered her to the altar, looking serene and lovely in an unfussy cream dress, her yellow ringlets arranged with delicate blossoms to match the silk ones on her pale bonnet. But as she looked up at Francis now, the soft morning light bathing the inside of the church caught the pretty flush on her cheeks, and quiet smile in her blue eye.

Francis went to give her a gentlemanly kiss on the cheek, but Sophia ducked her head so it landed on her lips. The gracelessness made her laugh, and she gave him another soft kiss as the modest congregation broke into applause and murmurs of approval. 

The register was quickly filled out; Lady Jane dabbing at her eyes as she signed as a witness, and Ross doing so with a flourish. 

“Congratulations, old man,” he declared, clapping Francis on the back, then gripped his arm tightly as he shook Francis’ hand. There was a sheen of emotion in his eyes, a rare thing from a man as poised as Ross, and Francis felt his throat tighten as he recalled the way Ross had wept after his rescue party had stumbled across Francis fishing out on the ice, little Ikiaq curled up by his side. “Couldn’t be happier for another soul - to see you here and happy, Frank.”

“Thank you, James” Francis said softly, hearing the crack of sincerity in his voice as he squeezed his hand gently.

The moment of sentiment passed with cleared throats and adjusted posture. Sophia was watching them with a knowing smile that lessened as she crossed the tiled floor to tuck her hand into the crook of Francis’ arm, giving him a look of concern. “Are you all right, Francis? You look pale.”

“I am fine. A little overwhelmed maybe,” Francis said, looking around at the flowers that lined the dark wooden pews, then up to the gilded moulding of the ceiling of St. Martin-in-the-Fields.

“Your arm isn’t hurting you again?” Sophia asked quietly, fingers pressing into his forearm.

Francis glanced down at the abrupt end of his sleeve where his left hand should be, the arm blissfully free of the phantom shooting pains that had been plaguing him for the past two days. “No, no” he shook his head as he turned a smile to Sophia. “I am a little tired. My sleep was restless last night.”

“As was mine,” Sophia said as they began walking down the aisle together with as much casual ease as if they were taking a stroll about Hyde Park. “I think it is natural before a wedding, to be awake with expectation and hopes.”

Francis nodded, peering into the daylight that was flooding through the doors of the church, turning those waiting outside into shapes and colours. 

Just inside the doors, standing in the shadows behind the grey marble font, was James. _Captain_ Fitzjames, although wore no epaulettes nor gold stiffened dress uniform. His greatcoat was hanging off gaunt shoulders, almost swamping his starved, reduced form, yet his neckcloth was neat and the buttons polished, his cap tucked smartly under his arm. His eyes dark and deep, following Francis without condemnation or joy as he walked past.

“Ready to be pelted with a supper's worth of rice?” Sophia asked, holding her bouquet like a shield.

“A small price to pay, I suppose,” Francis said, smiling down at her, feeling a great swell of warmth when she gave him a dry look, and led him out into the light.

* ***** *

The wedding breakfast was held in Lady Jane’s fashionable apartments in St James’. Which was, all in all, a less stifling experience than Francis had imagined.

Maybe because Ross jumped to his feet every five minutes to make a toast; each one becoming increasingly tenuous as time went on, and were soon met with cheers and hurrah’s whenever he managed to pull his proclamations in the direction of either Francis or Sophia.

Old McMurdo was on fine form, saying things to Francis to make him laugh before turning to repeat them to Sir William Parry, who always liked to be in on a good joke. Lady Parry kept the other side of the long mahogany table entertained with her own wit; often turning to Sabine with a comment, or sharing a word with Barrow the younger who was constantly getting to his feet to make conversation around the room, James trailing quietly behind him with a curious look on his face. 

Their joviality distracted Francis from the amount of lavish food set out on the crisp white table linen with each course. Each dish beautiful, and no doubt delicious, but every mouthful Francis took tasted sour; the fatty mutton and rich cakes almost turning his stomach.

Sophia, he noticed, only ate as much as he - shielding his lack of appetite with her own. She was dutifully talking at length with all who came up to wish them well, handling their guests with poise and ease that only made her more radiant and lovely. A perfect distraction from the smell of the food and the press of noise and people; and the portrait of Sir John that was set high on the wall behind where he and Sophia were seated in the centre of the table. 

The prospect of the man’s flat, displeased gaze only increased the sense of discomfort sitting heavy on Francis’ shoulders and chest, a cold sweat prickling the back of his neck and down his arms. A sense of profuse unease came over him, which did not disperse when the cake was wheeled in, and he and Sophia rose with much fanfare to cut it with his dress sword. 

Although, when Sophia touched his cheek to pull him into a kiss that tasted of sugar and rum cake, he found he did not care what the image of Sir John might think of him. Feeling glad when he looked up and caught, from the corner of his eye, James’ cracked mouth pull into a thin smile.

* ***** *

"The cottage is a perfect little hideaway. Set amongst the trees with a view of the lake,” Ross said, leaning forward in his seat and speaking to be heard over the clanking and the puffing of the train that was taking them to Aston Abbots. “Ann has organised one of the maids to attend to you during the day, and it is not so far from The Abbey that it would feel like a trek to return from dinner at the house, which Ann and I insist on inviting you to nightly!" Ross beamed, face bright with enthusiasm, smiling with almost as much happiness as he had for the whole month after he had married Ann.

Francis was as happy, in his own quiet way. Happy to see a glow of contentment on Sophia’s face, seeing as they had both agreed to marry because of guilt and a sense of duty, as much as any lingering affection between them. Happy to see the sunshine shining through her carriage window to light against her hair that had begun to grey from worry for her uncle and for Francis. Happy to have her gloved hand holding his, her slim fingers pressing into his palm as she spoke with Ross. 

“And which we shall of course accept. Shan’t we, Francis?”

“I should not dare turn Lady Ann down,” Francis said, and Ross laughed.

“Now listen here, old man, I shall repay every time you have said that by finding myself unable to turn down Mrs Crozier.”

“Quite right too,” he said, giving Sophia’s fingers a gentle squeeze when she smiled.

“This honeymoon you have planned for us sounds very congenial, Sir James, thank you” she said, and sounded like she meant it. “I hope you will allow me to see all those bits of Hobart and the Antarctic that you have collected?”

“Of course, of course! I shall open my study to you and to Frank,” Ross looked at Francis, and he watched concern narrow his eyes. “But maybe in a day or two. You look like the occasion has got to you, Frank old man.”

“I said as much to him at the church,” Sophia said, that wifely tone sounding odd in her voice.

“A long few days of excitement is merely catching up with me, I think,” Francis admitted, eyes trailing over to the door to their compartment. 

James was not standing there, Francis could not see him against the polished wood, but he could feel his presence all the same. Just like he had for the past week, ever since he had appeared to Francis in the tailor’s mirror when he was trying on his wedding suit. This shadow of James had remained with him, its presence passive and quiet, almost calming at times, and yet it had reformed all the weight of Francis' lingering grief, causing such an ache in his chest that Francis sometimes thought he might die.

The train passed by an embankment of trees, throwing the carriage into shadow, and Francis could see the glow of a whale oil lamp in dull, dead eyes, and playing against grey, waxy skin. 

Francis did not look away. He had not looked away during those long, painful minutes it had taken James to die, nor for however long he had sat there with his body before Bridgens had come to take him away. And he could not turn his gaze away now, feeling the impossible weight of loss again when the vision blinked out as the train reached open country once more, and sunlight swelled to fill every corner of the carriage

* ***** *

The Abbey house at Aston Abbots was charming in a hodgepodge sort of way. The original square house had been extended over the decades, floors added and wings built onto it by the Dukes of Buckingham, who had owned the estate before Ross had bought it. 

A long kitchen garden, always thick with herbs and vegetables, was tucked behind the house, and a small, sweet smelling ornamental garden to the side. Both places that Francis had walked around for hours after Ross had brought him home from the Arctic, the company of children or dogs or Ann the only thing stopping him walking off into the thick woodland that surrounded the estate. 

The grounds were covered in trees too, thinning out as they approached the neat lawn before the house, and were thickest on the far side of the clear, shimmering lake. It was there, amongst the trees, that the rose covered, red brick cottage Ross had given them for a honeymoon - built for some widowed aunt by a past owner no doubt - was nestled. 

“The grounds are very peaceful, as Frank knows,” a heavily pregnant Ann explained over the supper that had been waiting for them at the house on their arrival. “But the cottage is so tranquil, and so very homely it is hard to be anything but perfectly content there.”

“I know we shall be,” Sophia said as she sipped her wine, unaware of the dead man standing beside her at the end of the table. “It might be scandalous to admit, but before our engagement Francis and I were alone in one another's company with far more freedom and frequency than we were permitted to be afterwards. It shall be very agreeable to have some peace to sit together."

Ross laughed throatily, “oh, I know all about that,” then quickly turned back to his cold cuts at the chastening look Ann gave him.

“It is the way of matrimony for family to take over and start insisting on this, that, and the other,” Ann commiserated, hand on her belly.

“Oh Ann, my aunt was very perturbed when I insisted on bringing my dress here for you to see. Insisted it was some sort of bad luck, but I told her nonsense!”

“That was brave,” Francis said, Ross muttering a _hear-hear_ as Sophia smiled at him. 

“Mrs Crozier is a captain’s wife, and so is naturally bold.”

“I shall drink to that,” Ross declared, raising his glass so the red wine glinted in the candle-light. “To bold captain’s wives, and the men lucky enough to marry them!”

Ann laughed as everyone drank to that, the motion of draining his glass of Orgeat pulling at the odd strain that had developed in Francis' chest while they had been disembarking from the train.

The rest of supper passed with great congeniality, until Ann was overcome with tiredness. “I shall be all right after a rest,” she said as Francis helped her to her feet. “As you shall also, Frank dear. It is tiring, getting married.”

“A man might be insulted, with how often he is told he looks tired or asked if he is well,” Francis mumbled once Ross had escorted Ann from the room, promising to return quickly to walk ‘Mr and Mrs Crozier’ down to the cottage and show them about.

“We almost lost you,” Sophia said, blue checked skirts rustling musically as she rounded the table to stand before him, running her slim fingers along his lapel. “We fret because you have come back to us from… it does no good for a bride to talk of mortality, so I shan’t. But we care for you. All of us.”

Francis nodded and took the hand she had laid on his breast, aware of James looking on as he ducked his head to kiss her. 

* ***** *

A maid had unpacked for them while they were at supper; lighting the fires, and turning down the beds, and had tea ready to warm chilled fingers after Ross had shown them the scenic route through the grounds, made beautiful by the twilight.

The rooms were on the large side of modest, and elegantly furnished - Ann’s hand clear in every genteel painting and every well upholstered chair. The one Francis had been forced to sit in before the fire was certainly supremely comfortable, and he did not mind obediently sipping some sweet tea “to help improve his colour” as Ross showed Sophia around the cottage.

"Well," Sophia said once Ross had left, perching on the arm of Francis' chair, her fingers moving through his hair. "I shall retire. I hope you will join me soon?"

"We do not have to…"

"Join me for the company," she murmured, kissing his forehead. "It has been a long day, and I have hardly had a moment alone with you."

"All right," Francis agreed. He kissed her hand, letting her fingers slip from his own as she took a candle and departed quietly up the stairs.

Francis was left with the ticking clock, the crackling fire, and the sunset; a dazzling wash of purples and gold, reflected in the deep, dark waters of the lake that stretched out below the leaded parlour windows.

He lit a lamp before banking the fire, making his way slowly through the dark house; the creak of the staircase as he steadily ascended them was a strange comfort, reminding him of the sound of a ship at rest. The faint flickering lamplight illuminating the thick darkness that held no terrors for him, as he knew the shapes in the shadows were nothing more than James. 

His room was small, more a gentleman's dressing room than anything, with a small cot pushed against the wall and a grand walnut dresser taking up most of the space. Francis had become proficient at doing things one handed; he shaved away the stubble that had grown over the afternoon, washing quickly and pulling on his nightshirt that had been warming before the fire, then tying his old, comfortable dressing gown about him.

Sophia's bedroom was spacious and comfortably furnished, with plush rugs and printed blue wallpaper; the hangings and covers on the bed all embroidered with the same graceful pattern that was distorted into ever moving shapes by the flickering of the robust fire burning in the grate.

She was sitting up in bed, huddled up in a blanket as if she were cold, a soft flush on her cheeks and the tip of her nose like she had just come in from a walk on a frosty autumn day. 

He thought she looked lovely, but was more concerned that she appeared to be fighting off a shiver.

"Sophy? What's wrong?"

"I think the sun setting caused it, but the room took on a chill just as I was about to get into bed" she said, pale fingers clutching the edge of the blankets. "And I could not manage to heat it once more, no matter what I did to the fire."

Francis looked around the shadows that clung to the corners of the room, knowing from the prickle that ran up his left side that James was here with them. "I'll have a look, although I was never much good with flues and chimneys."

"If not, we shall just have make ourselves snug," Sophia replied, a rascalish smile on her face, and Francis blushed as he turned towards the fire. 

He almost started when he met bleeding eyes in a hollow face, but he had become used to such things after days of James' silent presence. Those eyes followed him as he went to set his lamp on the mantle and crouched before the fire; Francis’ hand trembling like it had not since he sobered up as he reached for the poker.

Francis had sworn to get his men home. Had sworn to James, even when it became clear that he would die on the cold, shattered ground; a vain hope on Francis' part, kindly humoured by a dying man. Every promise Francis made had been broken, the whim of the Arctic forcing him to fail at every one of his responsibilities as captain; and instead of being allowed to remain with the shadows of his men, Ross had dragged Francis home - and back to life.

That failure, that _abandonment_ , could not be rewarded with a family and a life lived in peace. Francis had known from the moment he had seen James in that bright, polished mirror that he was his punishment; the spectre of the greatest tragedy of his life always there, watching him live on.

He felt a little light-headed when he straightened, and Francis took a moment for the slight spinning sensation to ease before turning. He found James standing by the bed, right behind Sophia, watching him with a question in it's blank eyes.

"Francis are you sure you're all right?" Sophia asked. "Come to bed."

"Yes," Francis said, looking at James until it inclined its head slowly towards Sophia, who glanced up into the empty shadows where James was standing.

Francis climbed on the bed, graceless with mounting apprehension, and took Sophia’s face in his hand. "I'm sorry, I was… I was a world away."

"No need to apologise for that," she said softly, headless of the hand - white as wind bleached bone - reaching for her. "You're here now, with me. Just you and I," she touched his shoulder, leaning forward to kiss him softly. Smiling when Francis kissed her back with a passion that he knew spoke of too many sorrows and too many unearned joys.

"Francis?" She asked when he pulled away, hand pressed against his heart that was fluttering irregularly against his breast bone.

"I'm happy. But… my happiness reminds me of sadnesses. Too many, really, that I hoped not to bring into this room, this bed, with you." 

She looked pained to hear that, but spoke with quiet determination, "I always knew that the Arctic would linger on in you when we married, and I understand that some things will always haunt you," her eyes flicked to the side as if she sensed the movement behind her. "But, Francis, I will do my utmost to soothe these hurts you carry, and to bring you some peace and hap --"

Sophia fell silent when James touched her. She turned pale, flesh seeming gaunt over her bones, her breath cold against Francis' face and thick with the cloying stench of decay.

She doubled over, making a horrible rattling noise. Francis tried to comfort her, but his limbs were heavy and sluggish as he looked around for James and found him gone. Only the shape of a hand pressing against Sophia's shoulder blades through her nightdress.

She sat up slowly, as if every joint was stiff, blinking her eyes as if she had been in a darkened room and suddenly brought into the light.

Francis reached out to her. She looked at him and the smile on her face was not hers, the tone of voice one he thought he would never hear again.

" _Francis_?"

Tears of joy sprung in his eyes and terror rushed to his gut. Francis' chest contracted painfully, as if it was crushing his heart that he could feel begin to falter when James grasped his left elbow, his arm becoming horribly numb. 

" _It's all right, Francis. It's all right."_

"Are you killing me, James?" he asked, struggling to catch his breath as the room began to shrink around him.

_"No,"_ it said, hand supporting Francis' head as it helped him to lay down on the bed that was so soft and warm. So perfectly comfortable he did not mind that he could not breathe, or that the muscles between his ribs were spasming in agony. " _No, Francis. I'm here to help you out of _it."__

"Sophy?" he gasped, hand on its cheek that was wet with tears.

_"I am not here for her. I'm here to help you, just as you helped me,"_ it said gently. Then "Francis? Francis! _"_ in Sophia’s own voice that was high with panic, hands flying over his chest and face.

He could feel none of it, could hear none of her fear nor offer her any comfort. All he could hear was the wind over the shale, and all he could see were shadows flickering over faded canvas, cast by the thick light of a whale oil lamp.

**Author's Note:**

> Tag note - The very end features a character dying of a heart attack, while another is in distress. 
> 
> I rated this T, because I did not think the content merited a M. If that was a mistake, my apologies. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and comments are appreciated.


End file.
